Cast the First Stone
by ForgettablySilent
Summary: Colonel Mustang finds a child in a basement, half-blind and near-starved. This little girl is the daughter of the ex-Brigadier General Bloodstone, and she knows alchemy that can turn people into stone. Now if only they could get her to talk to them... / Please R/R. Thanks


Mustang remembered how this case had come into light. It was that Fullmetal brat's fault; if he hadn't been such a bookworm, no one would have figured it out until it was far too late. He remembered the day the Elrics stormed into his office- well, Edward did, anyways, his scarlet cape billowing behind him and his face a storm of emotions. That was nothing new; nor was his brother's awkward, calmer pace, or the younger brother's mumbled apologies for Fullmetal's attitude. It wasn't strange, either, that the vertically deficient state alchemist marched right up to Mustang's desk, with a loud, angry cry of "Colonel!"

Mustang had laughed it off, he remembered, asking him what the problem was (and throwing in some sort of insult or another). In response, the boy snapped in irritation, before throwing down an old, leatherbound journal.

It was covered with notes, pages taped in where they'd started to fall out, and yet the book was almost pristine, the pages unstained and unfolded, the handwriting neat and narrow, spiked and angular, with few words scratched out. He could see where they had taken a white pen and gone over mistakes- the author was clearly obsessed with keeping his notebook neat and clean. "What is this?!" Edward had demanded. "Do you know about this?"

The colonel had reached forward, taken the book from his desk and flipped through a few pages, just skimming through, really. His eyes widened all the same, as his mind perceived the few sketches of circles and grew with horror. Stone and human symbols could be seen in the same circle- and repeated in a different one there- what would people use a circle like this for? He wondered, and soon his question was answered, by the spitfire before him.

"Turning humans to stone." Fullmetal had said coldly. "Colonel, have you ever heard of that?"

"No, I haven't." Mustang had hated conceding to the child, but it was the truth. He folded his hands under his chin, staring at the journal lying open before him without taking in a word.

Edward Elric nodded triumphantly, but it was a miserable sort of victory, for then he continued: "Any idea who the 'subject' might be?"

"Subject?" Mustang looked up sharply, his black eyes flashing as they met steely gold ones.

Fullmetal had nodded then, he remembered, and finally pulled up a chair, flipping through the journal. "He constantly mentions someone he calls 'the subject'." He said, showing Mustang various samples in the jerky handwriting. Despite the sinking feeling in his stomach that Fullmetal was right- when it came to research, he usually was- he couldn't help but protest. "Perhaps he means several different subjects." He said, disliking the taste of the words. "Subjects he practiced the alchemy on."

"We thought it might be that too, sir." Alphonse had interjected then, his metallic voice introspective and shaky. His soulfire eyes were soft, a dimmer red than usual- it was clear he didn't like this journal's secrets any more than Roy did.

"See, what made us realise it had to be someone specific was this." Edward flipped to a specific page, pointing at the line with one silvery finger as he fairly shoved it in the colonel's face. The line was short, written in two halting half-sentences. They were pressed deep into the paper, as if the writer had been furious, and the lines trembled slightly. /Subject's tattoos infected. Progress delayed./

"Tattoos?" Mustang muttered, and glanced at the cover of the notebook- there a name was inscribed: Daniel Lewis Bloodstone. He sighed. The former Brigadier General Bloodstone had quit just before the Ishvalan War. Had he been doing this the whole time of his retirement?

"It's probably the symbols in the notebook." The younger of the Elrics added, and Mustang nodded, having come to this admittedly obvious conclusion himself. He sighed and tucked the notebook into a drawer, out of sight. "I'll look into it. Carry on, Fullmetal."

The blonde had gawked at him then. "That's it?! You're not going to let us take care of it?!"

"Knowing you, you'll just make an even worse mess of it." Mustang said coolly, without bothering to look up at the boy as he went back to his paperwork. The teen had then shouted some more insults, which Mustang had answered to snidely, and Alphonse had tried to calm his older sibling down, eventually dragging him out of the office.

After that, Mustang went to work getting jurisdiction and permission to take care of the case Elric had slapped in front of him. Luckily, it hadn't taken long- just a day short of a week.

That led him to here. Bloodstone's house was as immaculent as his notebook- which, coincidentally, appeared to be the only one in the military libraries. The former brigadier general had died only just a few short weeks ago; Mustang had been to his funeral. Being in his house now felt extremely uncomfortable, as if the bastard's ghost could be sensed floating around, causing even more misery than he had done when alive.

Roy's men helped him search the house. Their voices were hushed as they walked, whispering only a few comments to one another- "Clear." "This one's empty too." Soon the house smelled of Havoc's smoke, and Roy felt more anxious than ever. There had to be someone here- he shared the same suspicion as Fullmetal, his gut feeling screaming at him that something terrible had been done in this place.

There was one door they hadn't opened yet: a plain white thing, which probably led into the basement. Havoc eyed it anxiously, and Mustang's stomach twisted itself into knots- this was the last possible place for this "subject" to be. He approached this door, this blank white space, and was unsurprised to find it locked.

A small, direct blast of fire into the lock fixed that. It opened into the kitchen, and now he saw a small flight of stairs, wooden, and unpainted. The wood was dark, mahogany perhaps. At the end of the stairs- which were walled in so that they were almost claustrophobic- was a heavy, metal door, with a total of three locks on it, each thick and polished- and obviously difficult to open. Mustang sighed and headed down these stairs; his men crowded around the white door's entrance.

It took five snaps to destroy these locks, as one proved to be particularly flame-resistant. Then Mustang managed to push the heavy, almost airtight door open. It groaned and squealed on its hinges, refusing to move even the slightest bit quickly.

He stepped inside, and saw a very dark basement.

It was enormous, vastly spacious, and pressed against the walls were countless filing cabinets, which were clearly filled to the brim- he could see where excess papers were peeking out from the corners. Only a few small spaces were made, and there was even a wall made out of these metal cabinets.

A single table sat in the far left corner. It was the kind one folded out, without any chairs, and had been covered with papers. He approached it, seeing drawings of the same sort of alchemic symbols as in Bloodstone's journal. Mustang scarcely could hide a grimace. This was the place. If there was a 'subject', they were to be here. If they were still alive.

He explored the area. It was huge, lit by only two naked bulbs, and Mustang could hardly see anything. How could anyone perform alchemy in a place like this? He sighed, and snapped again, creating only a small spark. It was gone in an instant, blown out by the draft in the room.

Instantly he relit it- he thought he'd seen something.

In the moment that the spark remained on his fingertips, he saw it again: a small figure, huddled up in a corner between two silver filing cabinets. Its eyes glinted in the light of the flame, watching him warily. Mustang felt suddenly cold.

He stepped towards the figure, and in an instant it moved, its arms snatching towards its chest and its legs tightening against its small body. From such a distance, he could barely even see the figure- it was no more than a shadow, adrogynous and ageless.

He paused in his steps. Mustang could smell the fear in the room; it was nearly a tangible thing, it was so strong. This being- this had to be the 'subject'. He prayed it was; that there wasn't anyone else here, sitting just behind him, waiting for him to be close enough to turn him into a mere statue- the hairs on the back of his neck prickled, and Mustang glanced over his shoulder before scoffing at his own ridiculousness. The small sound sent the figure quivering again, and he winced.

Now the colonel approached the being more hesitantly, holding out his gloved hands in an offering of peace. He stopped a few feet away from them, and finally spoke, his voice quiet. "Hello. My name is Roy Mustang. I'm the Flame Alchemist." He said softly. "Have you heard of me?"

The figure didn't move, but he could feel their eyes on him, unblinking, reflected over that small flame he'd created earlier.

Mustang spoke a few more words, trying to gain some sort of response out of the 'subject'. Finally, he decided to give it a try: "Do you know Daniel Bloodstone? Did he lock you in here?"

At the sound of the dead man's name, the figure moved suddenly, recoiling against the wall, before suddenly springing into action. They rushed forward, unfolding with a suddenness that alarmed Mustang, and revealed a long, narrow frame. The figure's shoulder knocked against Mustang's as they attempted to rush past, making a break for the door, and the colonel caught them by the arms. Immediately the child- for this had to be a child; no adult would be this height, or weight, and still be alive- reeled backwards, their wide eyes focusing on Mustang before darting around the dark room, searching for more intruders.

The colonel, for his part, was filled with horror. Daniel's 'subject' was a child.

It was a girl, no older than fourteen- if even that.


End file.
